
THE LIBRARY 

OF 

THE UNIVERSITY 
OF CALIFORNIA 

LOS ANGELES 



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V 





PHAETHON : 
A SUPPLEMENTED OVIDIAN MYTH. 



Wtttti 



lit 



a 



STYLES & KIERSTED. 



COPYRIGHT, A. D. 1900, BY HENRY ABBEY. 

THE FIRST EDITION. 
SEVEN HUNDRED COPIES PRINTED FROM TYPE. 



RONDOUT, NEW YORK. 



PS 




PAGE. 

DEDICATION, 5 

A CONTENTION, 7 

PHAETHON, 15 

VEERA, . . . ; 47 

THE TRAITOR, 81 

MORO, 119 



A CONTENTION. 

FUNDAMENTAL principles, in these days of veneer 
and gloss, are apt to be overlaid and lost sight of. 
Almost every decade requires the new enunciation 
of old truths, else they become buried in the mass 
of opinions, inferences, sophistical deductions. 

Much has been heard about the ' ' moral indif 
ference of art," that "the poet must be free from 
all moral prepossessions" and that " he must aim 
at a purely artistic effect. ' ' The result of this kind 
of criticism is that we have poetry to a great extent 
void of feeling, invention, human interest, and as 
a natural consequence, the general public indiffer 
ent to the bulk of contemporary verse. Novels, 
filled with what this poetry lacks, have all the sale ; 
for it goes without saying that "poetry is a drug 
in the market." It is doubtful whether one, out of 
a hundred volumes of poems that are published, 



10 A CONTENTION. 

poetry and the fine arts ? Hogarth found that the 
art about him had fallen into much the same state 
of inanity as, to a great extent, now exists. He 
saw the error into which the disciples of art had 
been led, and gave his pictures a moral purpose. 
For, moral purpose it was, coarse and unrefined 
as his pictures may seem to us. The refinement 
of the present stands on a higher plane than that 
of the Eighteenth Century. But the success of 
Hogarth was the dawn of a new day for art in 
England. And, as history repeats itself, it is pos 
sible that not until a figure-painter of great orig 
inality and power, an American Hogarth, appears, 
shall our art be lifted out of the quicksands of 
moral obliviousness and overweening devotion to 
technicalities. 

We have come to this pass because very many 
people, besides artists, poets and critics, do not 
seem to distinguish between expression and the 
thing expressed. Falling into the mistake that art 
means both, they have nearly succeeded in driving 



A CONTENTION. 1 1 

all manliness out of poetry. At any rate, the best 
that can be said of much contemporary verse is 
that it is only a meaningless sort of art. It is writ 
ten under the dictum that ' ' the poet must aim at 
a purely artistic effect," and it frequently concerns 
itself with itself, whereas true poetry is thoughtless 
of itself. Art is, indeed, unmoral ; but this fact, 
like all other, has strict limitations and must not 
be carried beyond them. Art is expression ; but 
not the thing expressed. It may express emotion, 
or moral truth ; but it is not the emotion, nor the 
moral truth. It is the clothes and not the man. 
Shall the wisdom of Herr Teufelsdrockh be 
ignored ? What folly, to say that the clothes are 
the man ! , - 

The human voice may be so cultivated that a 
hymn shall be sung with the most exquisite art. 
But shall we say that there is no art because it 
expresses the moral truth embodied in the hymn ? 
Painting is expression in lines and colors, and all 
that relates to it as an art, the blending of hues, 



12 A CONTENTION. 

light and shade, perspective and the like, is un 
moral, is not related to morals ; but if the tech- 
nic of the finished picture be good, and the pic 
ture express some moral truth, it is, none the 
less, a work of art. We should not say, that, 
because the pictures of Hogarth and the more 
modern and refined works of Cole express morals, 
they are not true art. Poetry is an art so far as 
it is dependent on style and meter, and just so 
far it is unmoral ; but, if style and meter be good, 
it is an artistic poem, whether the sentiment ex 
pressed be moral or not. But bad or immoral 
sentiment is not to be tolerated in any art, and 
will soon drag into oblivion whatever of art is 
used to express it. The Stream of Good, that 
flows down the centuries, is divine, and soon 
runs itself clear of the evil thrown into it. Mo 
hammed said that he had not been taught the 
art of poetry, and that it was not expedient for 
him to be a poet, tho' the Meccans called him 
one. Yet, in writing the Kora"n, "he used a 



A CONTENTION. 13 

semi-poetic form ' ' that goes limping and clink 
ing through the most prosaic subjects, setting 
the teeth of good taste on edge with "incon 
gruity between style and matter. ' ' He did not 
make artistic poetry ; but he did write a ' ' per 
spicuous book." 

Let us cease to confuse form with spirit, ex 
pression with the thing expressed. It is the 
soul of the poem, not the prosody of it, that 
gives it life. The latter is mechanical, material, 
and, like a piece of machinery, neither moral 
nor immoral ; but if it be a true poem, the soul 
of it, like human life, "must be moral to the 
core. ' ' 

When again this fundamental principle, this 
difference between expression and the thing 
expressed, comes to be fully recognized, we shall 
hear less about the * ' moral indifference of art, ' ' 
and shall all see clearly that art is great only as it 
is the imaginative expression of moral truth. 



PHAETHON : 

A Supplemented Ovidian Myth. 
I. 

THE OATH OF CLYMENE. 

ALL glittering shone the Palace of the Sun, 
Set high on stately columns, bright with gold 
And carbuncle that rivals living flames. 
Its oval roof was polish'd ivory. 
And paramount, for workmanship most rare, 
Its massive, double, silver-seeming doors. 
Thereon was carved the circle of the sea, 
Set with a mighty emerald, the earth, 
Enhanced with men and cities, woods and beasts, 
And, bent above, the sky with its twelve signs. 
Six signs from either portal gleam'd and spoke. 
And there, in sea, were azure deities 
Shell-sounding Triton Proteus mutable 
^Egaeon clinging to a hundred whales 
Gray Doris with her daughters, part of whom 



1 6 PHAETHON. 

Were swimming, while the rest, upon the shore, 
Shook out their hair to dry it in the sun. 

This, at a distance, Phaethon beheld 
As he approach'd along th' ascending path 
That led from his contiguous domain. 
Now in his breast the taunt of Ep'aphus, 
That he was not the offspring of the Sun, 
Seem'd idle as a mist that fades away. 
His father's palace, with imposing truth, 
Dispersed the lowering falsehood of the taunt. 
Long had he been assured by lofty thoughts 
And forceful impulses to mighty deeds, 
That his was more than mortal parentage. 
Had not his mother sworn it, standing forth 
In sacred beauty and innate modesty 
And looking dayward with uplifted arms? 
Her words devout reechoed in his ears : 

"By this clear beam, with calm, far-shining rays, 
That hears and sees, I swear that thou, that thou 
Of this bright Sun above us, wast begot. 
And if I falsely speak, let him by me 



PHAETHON. 1 7 

Be seen no more and this light be the last 

That I shall look upon ! ' ' His mother seem'd 

A fountain of ambition tossing him. 

She and her new, hereditary self, 

Existent in her son, impell'd him on. 

He loved her as the image of a star, 

Reflected in the water, loves the star, 

And deem'd her wise in that she bade him go 

And/ in the Red-Gold Palace Glorious, 

Hear his own father's voice confirm her oath. 

The lofty mind begets the lofty deed. 
It was some taint of weakness in the blood 
Of dull mortality that forged the doubt. 
It is the doubt that ever makes us fail. 
Yet Phaethon was brave to seek the sun, 
And had good faith that he would greet his sire 
And learn of him the fix'd unchanging truth. 
If this should be hope's substance, foothold, field, 
Upon it his ambition should have rein, 
And speed him on to deeds unparallel'd 
Save by the gods, and prove himself a god ! 



1 8 PHAETHON. 

What time this son of Clymene arrived, 
He enter'd straightway his paternal house 
And, in the Sun-god's presence, stood at gaze ; 
But distantly, for he could not yet bear 
The dazzling radiance of the charioteer. 

II. 

THE RED-GOLD PALACE GLORIOUS. 

In purple robes sat Phoebus, high enthroned 
On sparkling emeralds. He held the lyre, 
The speedy arrows and the golden bow. 
Behind, from ivory pillars crown'd with globes, 
The velvet hangings seem'd like molten gold. 
To right and left, the Hours, the Days, the Months, 
The Years and hoary Ages were arranged 
At corresponding distances apart. 
There stood blithe Spring with blossoms chapleted, 
There naked Summer garlanded with corn, 
There luscious Autumn smear'd with trodden 

grapes, 
And icy Winter rough with crisp white hair. 



PHAETHON. 1 9 

Then from the midst of these look'd forth the Sire 
With his all-seeing eyes, and there beheld 
The young man standing overcome with awe. 

' ' What dost thou seek, O Phaethon, my son ! 
In this my palace ? Far, oh ! far away, 
I saw thee tracking the unwonted slope, 
Thy body, from thy knees up, visible 
Above the forest that conceals the path. 
I saw thee and I gave it thee to breathe 
The sea that music swims in from my lyre 
Swims in, with joyful, palpitating arms." 

Straight answer'd Phaethon, now all aflame 
To do a deed becoming to a god : 
' ' O Thou ! divine and universal Light, 
That daily wheelest from the east to west, 
Phoebus, my father ! if so be I thus 
May use thy name, which is to me most dear, 
And if my mother, Clymene, say true 
Give me, my parent, some assurance strong, 
Some potent token worthy instant fame, 
By which all gods and men henceforth shall know 



2O PHAETHOX. 

That I am sprung immortally from thee ! " 

Then fervid Phoebus, taking from his head 
The crown of rays that all around it shone, 
Commanded Phaethon to come to him, 
And, with a close embrace, he fondly said : 
"Thou dost indeed deserve to be my son. 
Thy mother truly spake thine origin. 
And, that all doubt be driven from thy mind, 
Ask thou for any gift that I can give, 
And I will grant it thee ; and let the stream 
By which all gods confirm their solemn oaths, 
Be sponsor to the promise I have made ! ' ' 

Scarce had the hot assurance of his words 
Dropp'd from his lips, when Phaethon announced 
The gift that he desired : "Just for one day. 
Lend me, my father, thy bright chariot 
And those wing-footed horses that are thine, 
That I may speed them on their heavenly course 
Just for one day ! ' ' 



PHAETHON. 2 1 

III. 
PHCEBUS PLEADS WITH PHAETHON. 

How Phoebus did repent 
How bitterly ! his oath to Phaethon ! 
His radiant head thrice shook with adverse thought, 
And when he spoke, a tone of deep regret 
Recall'd great Agamemnon as he chid 
Ulysses on the shore of Erebus : 
"Alas ! my son, thy words have made mine rash. 
Would that I now my promise might revoke ! 
Too hasty words are serpents venomous. 
Let me dissuade thee from thy wild emprise ; 
For thou hast reason and a noble mind. 
Oh ! listen to the warm, parental love 
That would withhold thee from thine injury ! 
To be a mortal, fate hath fix'd thy lot. 
That which in ignorance thou dost desire, 
Belongeth not to mortals, but to gods. 
Nay, even the gods themselves may not secure 
The riskful privilege thou hastso besought. 
Myself alone excepted, none would dare, 



22 PHAETHON. 

For none is able, here to take his stand 
Upon my swift, fire-flinging axle-tree. 
Nay, even the Sovereign Lord Olympian 
Hath not the skill to guide my chariot. 
Yet who is mightier than Jupiter? 

" Besides, the first part of the road is steep. 
Tho' in the morning they are fresh, my steeds 
Are loth to climb it and would turn aside. 
In middle heaven the road is high aloft. 
Even to myself comes fitfully white fear 
To look far down upon the earth and sea. 
Abrupt and dreadful is the last descent, 
And he who drives there must have sure command, 
Strong-sinew'd arms, cool nerves, to hold the reins 
And guide the horses safely to the deep. 
There Tethys, who receives me in her waves 
Outspread below, hath often spell-bound stood 
Lest /plunge headlong down, and ancient Night 
Resume her sway and no to-morrow dawn. 

"Besides, with unseen forces I contend, 
Along the hazardous, o'erarching way. 



PHAETHON. 23 

With dizzy revolutions whirl the stars ; 

The very heavens' rondure whirls around 

Some dim, Herculean center far remote ; 

And that, which overcomes all other things, 

Me does not overcome ; for I compel 

The blinding brilliance of my vivid team 

In an oblique direction, opposite 

To that one follow'd by the rapid earth. 

Could'st thou proceed, and stem this monstrous 

whirl ? 

Nay, rather, it would carry thee away 
And fling thee down the measureless abyss. 

' ' Perchance thou fanciest that on the road 
Are springs, and pleasant groves to loiter in, 
And welcome-gated cities of the gods 
With temples lavishly enrich'd with gifts. 
It is not so ; the way is dangerous 
And guarded every where by creatures fierce. 
Altho' thou heldest steadily thy course 
And be not turn'd aside in wanderings, 
Yet must thou pass between the Bull's wide horns, 



24 PHAETHON. 

And through the Centaur's drawn, Haemonian bow, 

And face the Lion's visage ponderous, 

And see the Scorpion's extended claws, 

And brave the dreadful Serpent and the Crab 

All these immeasurably vast, enlarged 

To infinite beyond their natural growth, 

And set forever in the firmament. 

"Nor are my horses pliant to control ; 
But wild and furious with those fierce flames 
That, from their mouths and nostrils, widening rush. 
Hardly by me the horses are restrained, 
When all their fiery spirit is awake, 
And their maned necks, against the ringing reins, 
Wrestle and toss impatient of the bit. 

" Forsooth ! thou askest for undoubted proof 
That thou may'st know thyself sprung from my 

blood. 

And what proof surer can I offer thee 
Than that I for thy welfare am alarm 'd ? 
Behold my countenance ! Would thou could'st 
gaze 



PHAKTHON. 2 5 

Deeply and clear into my very heart, 
And see therein the ocean of my love 
Distraught and tempest-toss'd with fear for thee ! 

"Bethink thee now of what the world contains 
Of rich, or fair, of blessings manifold 
Abounding in the earth, or air, or sea. 
Choose thou from these that I may gladly give. 
Undo thy rash desire, the daring fruit 
Of thy sheer youth and inexperience. 
It brings no honor, but a penalty ; 
It brings a punishment and not a gift. ' ' 

Thus Phoebus spoke, and Phaethon 
Embraced his neck with his endearing arms, 
His disappointment rising to his eyes 
And pleading with a look of wounded love. 
Straightway his speech the wounded look en 
forced : 

' ' O honored father ! kind, beneficent ! 
Who scatterest abroad thy precious rays 
On wholesome and on noxious things alike, 
I thought thee always great and generous, 



26 PHAETHON. 

And never willing to withhold thy gifts. 
Deny me not ; for all that thou hast said 
Incites me but the more to do the deed 
On which my heart is set unchangeably. 
For I would prove I am thy very son, 
By doing, if but once, thy daily task 
Myself Time's signal for a day of fame ; 
And if I fail, I fail. No son is he 
Who dreads to follow in his father's steps 
And take the cares and burdens on himself. 

" Nor lay my wish to youth and thoughtlessness. 
Not all rash deeds are done in early years. 
Success has justified imprudent means ; 
For courses jeopardous not always fail. 
And there are minds so wondrously endow'd 
That they are broader than experience, 
And, like Minerva, stand full grown in youth ! 
Am not I too the offspring of a god ? 
Dissuasion to ambition is a spur. 
Or won, or lost, the race must needs be run 
When that within us calls us to the deed ! ' ' 



PHAETHON. 27 

To Phaethon made answer Phoebus thus : 
"Then doubt not that, whatever be thy wish, 
It shall be granted thee and stinted not ; 
For I have sworn it by the Stygian waves ! ' ' 

IV. 

THE HORSES AND THE CHARIOT. 

Thus spake he, seeing that his earth-born son 
Was flush'd with eagerness to mount the sky. 
And as he now no longer could delay, 
He led him thence to where the chariot stood, 
The lofty chariot that Vulcan gave. 
The axle-tree and poles were all of gold 
And all the outer roundness of the wheels. 
Of silver was the range of widening spokes. 
Along the yoke, in graceful order set, 
Great chrysolites and gems flash'd brilliantly 
Their infinite reflections of the Sun. 
But while aspiring Phaethon admired 
The dazzling splendor and its workmanship, 
Behold ! Aurora, watchful, open'd wide 



28 PHAETHON. 

Her purple portals in the ruddy east, 
Her cool halls fill'd with roses glittering. 
Flush'd yet with sleep she stood, draped round 

with mist 

Through which the warm tints of her body glow'cl. 
Then, one by one, the wan stars disappear'cl, 
The flocks whereof effulgent Lucifer 
Collects, and, from its station in the sky, 
"When he had driven the last, himself withdrew. 
Now father Titan, when he saw the earth, 
And all the bent sky over it, grow red, 
And saw the distant moon's white horns wax wan, 
As if they soon would vanish from his sight, 
Gave orders to the swift, obedient Hours 
To yoke the shining coursers of the day. 
All speedily the silent goddesses 
Complied, and from the lofty stalls led out, 
Rampant and furious and snorting fire, 
The mighty horses, on ambrosia fed ; 
And in their mouths they put the sounding bits. 
Then Phoebus with a hallow 'd drug o'erspread 



PHAETHON. 29 

The face of Phaethon, that it unharm'd 
Might bear the red intensity of flames. 
Upon his locks he set the crown of rays 
And, sighing doom and sorrow, thus he spoke : 
" If thou can'st here at least, my son, obey 
The prudent dictates of a father's care, 
Be sparing of the lash ; for of themselves 
The steeds are wont to gallop madly on. 

"And let not other than the track oblique 
Allure thee ; lo ! its curvature is broad 
And in it glimmer traces of the wheels. 
That heaven and earth may equal heat enjoy, 
Drive not too low, nor yet thy equipage 
Urge to the chilly summit of the sky. 
The middle course is Safety's ; there she treads 
At all times with her mild-eyed followers. 
So shall the right wheel bear thee not away 
Against the twisted Serpent, nor the left 
To the low Altar draw thee ruinously. 

"Of this I may not tell thee more ; for thou 
Hast won thy knowledge but from semblances, 



3O PHAETHON. 

Those doubtful guides that live in masquerade. 
And he who gives new knowledge, who beyond 
The pale of things accepted dares to step, 
Is even more apt to fall on ridicule, 
Than one who babbles only ignorance. 
But be, my son, assured of this one truth : 
The road is other than thou thinkest it. 

' ' The rest I leave to Fortune, who, I pray, 
Will aid thee, taking wiser care of thee 
Than of thyself thou dost. But whil'st I speak, 
Moist Night has touch'd the goal of western shores. 
The darkness is dispersed, and Morn is here ! 
Delay is not allow'd and I am call'd. 
Seize firmly now the will-conducting reins, 
Or, if thy mind is capable of change, 
Take mine advice and not my chariot ! ' ' 

V. 

THE WAY IS LOST. 

Ambition heeds not prudence if it go 
Not arm in arm, or by another road. 



PHAETHON. 3 1 

And Phaethon, distracted by his wish, 

Was deaf to all that cross'd it. Thrill'd with joy, 

He lightly sprang into the chariot 

And stood aloft, and clutch'd the golden reins, 

Which in his hands were put reluctantly. 

What Pegasi these are, that he would drive 
Of daylight and imagination born, 
And rather of the mind than of the sky ! 
And were his training and ambition match'd, 
What opportunity for hard-earn'd skill 
To give effect to genius, and to win 
The herald heights and very goal of hope ! 

But now the four swift horses of the Sun 
With neighings fill'd the air, sent forth red breath 
And, with impatience, paw'd the barriers. 
When these, upon the instant, were withdrawn, 
And all the universe's boundless scope 
Was given the mighty beasts, they took the road 
And, moving through the air their rapid feet, 
Dispersed the silent, gliding ghosts of clouds. 
Then spreading wings, with manes astream, they 
rose, 

5 



32 PHAETHON. 

With magical progression and uplift, 
And pass'd by newly-risen eastern winds. 

But light the yoke and light the vehicle, 
And so far lack'd they now their wonted weight, 
That soon the flying horses seem'd to feel 
They scarce were drawing aught, but were set free. 
For as a ship unballasted is toss'd, 
Unsteadily careening o'er the surge, 
So did the chariot leap, or swerve and sway, 
And, like an empty one, was flung about. 
Aroused thereat, the steeds rush'd fiercely on ; 
But not in order as they did before. 
They turn'd aside and left the beaten track. 
And Phaethon himself is sore alarm'd ; 
For, now the way is lost, and were it found, 
He could not manage the gigantic steeds. 
He does not know their names ; oh, that he did ! 
For names, if kindly spoken, pacify. 
And now the cold Triones, for the first, 
Grow warm with erring sunbeams and in vain 
Attempt to bathe in the forbidden sea. 



PHAETHON. 33 

Now was the Serpent, near the icy pole, 
Long torpid with the cold and hence not fear'd, 
Warm'd into life and terrifying rage. 
Thou too, Bootes, it is said, took flight, 
Altho' thou \vert impeded by thy wain. 

But when th' unhappy Phaethon look'd down 
From a great height of illimitable sky, 
And saw the small earth lying far beneath, 
He paled, and abject terror shook his knees. 
Then, for a time, so blinding was the light, 
Thick darkness overcame his painful eyes. 
Just as a ship without a helm is driven 
By noisy gusts of sweeping Boreas, 
Was too ambitious Phaethon borne on. 

Too late he wish'd that he had never touch'd 
The horses of his father, never known 
His parentage divine, and never gain'd 
The right to guide the dizzy chariot. 
One moment look'd he forward to the west, 
Which he, by fate, was not allow'd to reach, 
And then, a moment, turn'd to see the east. 



34 PHAETHON. 

For much of silent heaven was left behind, 
But more arose before his straining eyes. 
Now in his mind he measured either space 
And stood appall'd by awful distances ; 
Nay, stupefied, he let not go the reins, 
Nor did he hold them firmly in his hands. 

He saw strange objects scatter'd every where 
About him in the broad'ning heavens, and fright 
To them gave weird and most abhorrent shapes. 
He saw withal the forms of huge, wild beasts, 
To which his fancy added attributes ; 
For, near that spot wherein the Scorpion 
Throws into vast twin curves its stellar arms, 
And bending tail and claws on either side, 
Extends along two Zodiacal signs, 
This aspirant to things beyond his reach, 
This earthy son of failure and despair, 
With chill of rigid horror dropp'd the reins, 
Beholding, as it seem'd, the Scorpion, 
With sweat of fatal venom dripping wet, 
And, with its barb'd tail, threat'ning wounds and 
death. 



PHAETHON. 3 5 

When on their backs the horses felt the reins, 
They plunged, they roved at large without restraint 
And, in an unknown region, cleft the dark 
That trail'd behind some planet like long hair. 
Uncheck'd they dash'd along, surpassing winds 
And strange, etherial forces of the void, 
And rush'd upon the fix'd, remoter stars. 

But fright not always lasts, and Phaethon 
Arose and, in the chariot, upright stood. 
He look'd abroad upon immensity 
And saw that yet inordinately far 
The fix'd stars shone, each star a blazing sun 
Surrounded wide by planetary isles. 
Expanding rapidly at his approach, 
And parted fearfully by chasms of space 
Where dwelt Eternity alone with God, 
These gleaming archipelagoes inform 'd 
The silent sea of gray infinitude. 
Along the universe he look'd its length 
And met the light of that astounding ring, 
The Milky Way's thick myriads of stars. 



36 PHAETHON. 

Then, sweet and clear, he heard angelic strains, 
And saw long troops of glad, ascending spirits 
Far journeying through space to other worlds. 

VI. 

THE DAY OF FIRE. 

Now was the sky, in which the horses ranged, 
Most sharply cold ; but they abruptly wheel'd 
And through steep places furiously dash'd 
Down headlong paths and nearer to the earth. 

The moon, surprised to see her brother's steeds 
Run lower than her own, sent forth hot clouds 
And drew into her bosom all her seas. 

And now the earth was parch'd by cruel heat, 
Which bore away her moisture ; grass grew pale 
And trees and foliage leap'd up into flame. 
But why should we complain of lesser ills 
When vaster ruin surrounds us every where ? 
Strong cities perish'd with their walls and towers. 
The flames whole nations into ashes turn'd. 
And now high woods and mountains are on fire. 



PHAETHON. 37 

The firm ground bursts asunder and the light, 
Down-streaming into deepest Tartarus, 
Startles the King Infernal and his spouse. 
The lovely nymphs, with hair dishevel'd, stand 
In ruin'd dells and on the sometime shores, 
Lamenting the decease of springs and lakes. 
Thrice, wrinkled Neptune ventured angrily, 
To thrust up from the sea his scaly arms, 
And thrice did he withdraw them from the air, 
Unable to endure or gaze upon 
Its wavering glow and furnace breathlessness. 

And Phaethon with shame beheld the world 
In agonies of fire by his rash act, 
Nor could himself abide the rageful heat. 
He saw that even his chariot was scorch 'd. 
As with a whirlwind, he was wrapp'd about 
With flying embers and with burning gusts. 
On every side he was involved in smoke. 
A pitchy darkness cover'd him like night, 
And whither he was going, he knew not, 
Nor where he was, at madding pleasure borne 



38 PHAETHON. 

By Pegasi dread-wing'd and errorful. 

His wretched father hid away his face 
With unavailing sorrow overcast, 
And on that day, 'tis said, there was no Sun, 
Or that he went not down ; but at the word 
Of Joshua, stood still on Gibeon. 

VII. 

THE EARTH'S PRAYER TO JUPITER. 
At last, the genial Earth, in sore distress, 
Upturn'd her kindly, in any- featured face, 
And to her forehead placed her helpless hands. 
Then, shaking all things with a tremor vast, 
She pray'd with bitterness to Jupiter : 

" O Sovereign of the Gods ! if thou of this 
Approvest, and if this I have deserved, 
Why do thy lightnings linger? Send them forth ! 
Let me, if doom'd to die by heat intense, 
Be rather by thy sudden flames destroy'd ! 
My mouth is parch'd ; the vapor chokes my speech. 
Behold my singed hair and me miserable, 



PHAETHON. 39 

With ashes cov'ring all my face and eyes ! 

And dost thou give this as my recompense ? 

Is this reward for my fertility 

And for my pains, in that I must endure, 

From crooked plow and sharp-tooth'd harrow, 

wounds, 

And serve bronzed Agriculture all the year, 
Supplying for the cattle pleasant leaves, 
For human kind the corn, a wholesome food, 
And for the gods frankincense? The deep 

seas 

No more obey the trident, but recede. 
Do these deserve destruction ? Do the skies ? 
Atlas himself is struggling and in pain. 
Hardly upon his shoulders and bent back 
Can he his fiery burden now endure. 
If earth and sea and thy starr'd palace burn, 
Then into ancient chaos we are thrown 
And all the labor of the gods is vain. 
O Sovereign of Olympus ! grant my prayer ! 
O Sovereign of Olympus ! quench the flames ! ' ' 



4O PHAETHON. 

The suppliant words upflew, like white-wing'd 

doves, 
And nestled in the breast of Jupiter. 

VIII. 

A SYNOD OF THE GODS. 

Amidst the synod of the gods, he sat, 

He of the far-borne voice, the Scepter'd God, 

Enthroned upon the heights where he was wont 

To spread the clouds above the spacious earth, 

To roll his deep-voiced thunders, and to hurl 

His brandish'd lightnings crinkling down the sky. 

Loud thunder'd now the Sire Omnipotent, 

And call'd the gods to witness, and him too, 

Who lent his equipage to Phaethon, 

That they must heed the fruitful Earth's appeal, 

Preserve the House Celestial, and prevent 

Another chaos from usurping all. 

"And if," he said, "ambitious Phaethon 

Can manage not his father's chariot, 

Yet in a great attempt he finds his fate. 



PHAETHON. 4 1 

It is the attempt, the bravery to face 
Defeat and death, that shows the noble soul. 
And tho' ambition often overleaps 
The saddle where it fain would sit renown'd 
And in the dust lies fall'n, it yet deserves 
Less pain than its own disappointment gives 
Surely not scorn. For proud and lofty deeds, 
Which, but for high ambition, had not been, 
Are stars that fight against oblivion. ' ' 

Meanwhile sat Phcebus, spotted-faced, long 

hair'd, 

In squalid garb, and destitute of light 
Beyond his wont when he endures eclipse. 
He all abhorr'd, himself, the light, the day, 
And from the world withheld his needed gifts. 
His mind was canopied with dismal grief 
And full of anger at the Olympian Sire 
For threat of doom implied. ' ' Since time began, 
My lot," said Phoebus, "hath been ever one 
Of thankless effort and of little rest. 
Of hardships I am tired of labors long 



42 PHAETHON. 

That bring no honors and that have no end. 
And when my brave son craved it as a boon, 
To give me respite for a single day, 
In secret I was glad, tho' much I fear'd 
The issue. Yet what father is not pleased 
To have his son step proudly in his place 
And take the burden he has borne for years ? 
But my regret is deepen'd by the thought 
That I, who prated prudence, needed it 
In that I did not go with Phaethon, 
And going, show him how and where to drive. 
"But as the youth has fail'd, let one of you 
Attempt the chariot that bears the light ! 
If no one will, and all of you confess 
That you can not, let Jupiter himself 
Drive it, that while he holds the reins at least, 
His angry lightnings may be laid aside. 
Then will he know, when he has tried the strength 
Of my flame-footed horses, that my son, 
If in a natural ambition balk'd, 
Deserves not death nor further punishment 



PHAtTHON. 43 

Repent thee, Sire, and harm not Phaethon ! 
Repentance is the Angel Beautiful. 
When gods repent, she proves them truly gods ; 
When men repent, she makes them nobler men. 
She gives the soul a rose that never fades." 

So Phoebus spoke in synod with the gods, 
Who, startled at his words, around him press'd, 
While they entreated him submissively 
That he would not bring darkness on the world. 

But Jupiter imperiously arose, 
High as an Alp, as frigidly supreme, 
And, with a voice like thunder in the hills 
Reverberating far, he thus ordain'd : 
"This day thou shalt recall thy frenzied steeds, 
O Phcebus ! and to-morrow drive them forth 
To gild the world and give new beauty life. 
And Vulcan, thou shalt mend the chariot 
Refix the silvery, electric spokes 
In their coronal tires ; and I, myself, 
Revisiting the earth and all the heavens, 
Shall, as I may, restore what is destroy'd. 



44 PHAETHON. 

" I know the past and future, seeing all. 
Repentance with strict justice should not clash. 
Better, indeed, that with the shades below 
Brave Phaethon should bide, than on the earth, 
Or on our cloud-capp'd heights Olympian ; 
For he is not a god, nor yet mere man, 
But is partly both. And spirits such as his, 
Their hopes all cloud and fire, their strength but 

tow, 

Their bolder efforts drossy with the faults 
That negative perfection, needs must drink 
The cup of disappointment and regret. ' ' 

Again the Sire Olympian thunder'd loud 
And, poising in his hand the lifted bolt, 
He darted it against dazed Phaethon. 
Him it deprived of life and of his seat 
In the bright vehicle of golden day. 

The afrighted horses quickly turn'd aside 
And wildly bounded in a course diverse. 
They shook the jewel'dyoke from off their necks, 
And, from the tangled harness, set them free. 



PHAETHON. 45 

In one place lay the reins ; another held 
The golden axle-tree wrench'd from the poles ; 
Another held the spokes of broken wheels. 
The shining bravery of the chariot, 
In fragments torn, was scatter' d far and wide. 

But Phaethon, his yellow locks oh fire, 
Was headlong hurl'd, down, down the vast abyss, 
And, like a sudden meteor, cross'd the sky 
Above the earth, and vanished in the night 
That, for a moment, he had lighted up 
With the trail'd brightness of his blazing hair. 



VEERA. 

I. 

THE KING'S SEAL. 

A prince was I, of warlike, ancient line ; 
And when my father, the indulgent King, 
Lay near to death, my younger brothers twain, 
To end my life and share the crown agreed. 
I did not tell the King, because I fear'd 
To shorten by one breath his waning day. 
Beside his couch I knelt and bow'd with tears. 
He laid his thin, hot hand upon my head, 
Invoking Allah's blessing, then said on : 
" Thou hast beheld the green and tender blade 
Thrust upward through the all-begetting soil ; 
In time, the sure day crowns it with a flower. 
So thou, when I am not, shalt wear a crown, 
The people's flower and symbol, and be King. 
But take thee now this lesson to thy heart 
And from the grass learn wisdom : Wear thy 
crown 



48 VEERA. 

As meekly, and as passionless of pride, 

As doth the green herb hiding under leaves ; 

For pride becomes a passion in small minds 

Who, when in mighty seats, degrade their power 

By masking it in pomp and arrogance." 

Then bent he down with pain and kiss'd my 

cheek, 

As if, in confirmation of a law, 
He set his seal upon it the King's Seal. 

II. 

THE KING'S FRIEND. 

I cared not for the crown, save as a means 
To reach a wider outlook over life, 
And show men two things unaccountable. 
Of these my tutor taught me. He was weird 
My father's friend, adviser, menial gnome 
A probing critic, not well liked at court, 
Nay, fear'd and hated by the eunuch group, 
Who boldly said that he should be vizier.' 
His will was strong. His heavy, hairy brows 



VEERA. 49 

Bridged over eyes that shone like furnace fire. 

For all his usual careless gait and wear, 

Derision ceased to sneer when he approach'd, 

And straightway fell to cringing servitude. 

My will was lost in his, as smoke in air, 

As waters of a river in the sea. 

To be like him I daily long'd and strove. 

I only cared to study and to dream. 

And it was he who, standing in the night 

Beside a pillar of the palace porch, 

Saw my two brothers, where they met below, 

And overheard their dark, cold-blooded plot 

To slay me and to seize upon the crown. 

III. 

THE YOUNGER BROTHERS. 

The night before the murder was to be, 
I drew my keen, slim dagger from its sheath 
And stole forth, down the long, wide, marble stairs 
And past the throne-room, through the curtain'd 
arch, 



5O VEERA. 

Beyond which, in a cool, high-vaulted place, 

My brothers had their bed. A wick, afloat 

In aromatic oil in cut glass vased, 

Dependent from the ceiling's middle star, 

Diffused a drowsy twilight. Like two boats 

Rising and falling with a long sea-swell, 

My brothers on their broad couch lay asleep. 

I saw their faces, and the one was fair. 

Light, golden locks back from his forehead waved 

And, on the silken pillow, spread like spray. 

The other's face was shadowy and dark. 

I felt no pity in my angry breast 

For this, the elder brother of the two, 

For he had more deceived me. When we met, 

He ever honor'd me with words of praise. 

My slightest act had merit, on his lips. 

Praise is a dust of perfume, which, if thrown 

Into the eyes of even noble men, 

Will blind them to the thrower's plainest faults. 

But now my will vaned round, I know not why. 

The moon was at its full and glimpsed forth pale, 



VEERA. 5 1 

From blue between two fringed and tassel'd 

clouds, 

Like some fair princess from her curtain'd bed. 
The vagrant wind came through an open blind 
And whisper'd of the desert. The same breath 
Fann'd the small flame that, in the crystal urn, 
Mimick'd a star. Beneath its rays I wrote : 
I thought to slay you both; for you have plarid 
To take my life. I spare you and I go, 
Between them there I laid the paper down 
And thrust my dagger, to the jewel'd hilt, 
Through it, into the couch. Then, passing 

forth, 

I came to that high room wherein a life, 
The King's, lay drifting near the reefs of death. 
My tutor at his bedside, on the floor 
And overcome by sleep, lay like a dog. 
I fain would see the King's face once again 
Ere, like a maiden who in her lover trusts 
Some outland youth whom she has scarcely 

known 



52 VEERA. 

I gave myself up, even body and soul, 
To the wide desert and the world beyond. 

IV. 

THE DEAD KING. 

How sweetly slept the King ! His long, white 

hair 

And venerable beard were undisturb'd 
By scarce the stated motion of his breath. 
Surely, I thought, the fever must have pass'd ! 
I bent down tenderly to kiss the cheek. 
How cold ! My heart sank gave a choking 

bound, 

And drove a weltering wild wave of grief 
Far up the sad, unmitigated sands 
Of utter desolation. The wave broke 
And fell in blinding mists of bitter tears. 
I moan'd in dark despair ; but hush'd my woe 
And kiss'd again the cold, insentient face 
The face august that I should see no more. 



VEERA. 53 

V. 

THE FLIGHT. 

I left the sad room, parting with slow care 

The heavy, silken curtains, fearful then 

Their rustle might alarm some wakeful ear. 

I found the jewels of the crown, and these 

With all my own, I in a bag secured, 

Or hid about my person as I might. 

As noiseless as a ghost, then, through the hall 

And down the stairway wrought of sandal-wood, 

I made light footsteps. Yet not quite so light 

But love could hear ; for as I tip-toe went 

Along the alcoves where the women slept 

In deep recesses hidden from the view, 

A maiden stood before me. She outstretch'd 

Her soft, white, naked arms to bar my way, 

Then clasp'd them round my neck, and laid her 

cheek 

Against my cloak, with odors and a sigh. 
This was the lady, Veera. She, of late, 
For heavy ransom had been captive held 



54 VEERA. 

From a large tribe of warlike Bedouins ; 

But, when the gold was brought, she would not 

go- 

The King was pleased thereat, for thus she made 
A lasting peace between him and her kin. 
No maiden in the city could be found 
To rival her for beauty. All her words 
Were apt and good and all her ways were sweet. 
I, in the lovely prison, ivory barr'd 
By her warm arms, was fretful for release ; 
For Heaven, if gateless, would a prison be. 
But Veera would not free me till I told 
The meaning of my vigil. This I did ; 
For here she made a pledge of secrecy. 
I named the city that I meant to reach. 
I did not wait to pay her back her kiss. 
I hurried to the stables, where I found 
My jet-black horse, that neigh'd and paw'd the 

floor. 

I bound the saddle firmly, grasp'd the reins 
And, in a moment, through the Eastern gate, 



VEERA. 55 

Shot out upon the desert, where the wind 
Made race with us, but lagg'd behind at last. 

VI. 

TWO PROBLEMS. 

Vienna reach'd, I gave myself to books. 
Here, I had promised Veera, I should be. 
In eager study pass'd abstracted days. 
Far-reaching paths were open'd to my view. 
All that my tutor knew seem'd small and poor 
Beside these wider ways of thought and truth. 
Better, I said, to know than be a king. 
There is no royal, gem-encrusted crown 
That so becomes a man as knowledge does. 

To solve two problems now fulfill'd my days. 
On them my tutor spent absorbing years. 
But ever- groping vainly in the dark, 
On me he set the purpose of his soul, 
Determined, at the last, that he, through me, 
Would wrench the secrets out of Nature's grasp, 
Tho' Life, long since, had given him back to 
Death. 



56 VEERA. 

The subtle problems were : How make fine gold? 
And, How exist forever on the earth? 

VII. 

THE DOOR. 

There lay, among the books that I had bought, 

The Book that is the greatest of all books, 

The angel to our spiritual needs, 

The indestructible sure Word of God. 

The prized Koran' takes from it, but ignores 

The inspirational, prophetic gold 

Relating to the Christ. Mohammed made 

No suras to belittle his own claims. 

To read the Bible I at once began ; 

But, ere I had read far, I found the door 

Behind which lay conceal'd the consequent 

Solution of my problems ! Firmly lock'd 

The strong door stood the Door to Life and 

Gold! 

I read of Eden that, in the east of it, 
And in the center of the Garden there, 



VEERA. 57 

The unforbidden Tree of Life bore fruit. 
Then of the gold : Out of the Garden ran 
A river, which was parted, and became 
Into four heads. Euphrates was the fourth. 
And one was Gihon, the Ethiop flood, 
And one was Pison, the great crystal stream 
About Havil'ah, where fine gold is found, 
Magnetic bdellium and the onyx stone. 
My tutor said that, tho' the problems seem'd 
In no wise like, nor either kith or kin, 
Yet one within the other was enclosed, 
And he who solved one, would have solved them 

both. 

Of many things he tried to make the gold, 
Or to distill from them the Elixir true. 
But, unlike him, I had no choice of means. 
Whether I made or found, it matter'd not, 
And it is easier to find than make. 
Over the text I pored, and kiss'd the page 
With thankful lips, my blood revivified 
By the strong impulse of the mystic words. 



58 VEERA. 

VIII. 
THE KEY. 

As one, in some deserted street at night, 
Who spurns by chance an old and rusty key 
And holds it to the light and sees, with joy, - 
The long-lost sesame of one closed door, 
Behind which, wish'd-for wealth has lain unused, 
So I, when first I chanced on Mesmer's Works, 
Felt I had found the Key which would unlock 
That batten'd, fast-shut, Pentateuchal Door, 
Behind which lay, I thought, those unstring'd 

pearls, 

The answers to my problems. Day by day, 
Of Mesmer I made study and delight 
Like his, my will was potent, dominant, 
And seem'd to wield an all-compelling force ; 
But I was not clairvoyant, and few are. 
I mourn'd the lonely death that Mesmer died. 
Nor had he gain'd the portals of success 
When voted an impostor by the learn'd. 



VEERA. 5Q 

The learn'd are often slow to see new truth. 
The pioneer, who builds beyond the pale, 
Is thought, at first, foolhardy and absurd ; 
But when thick population marks his site, 
And every where the pale has been advanced, 
All call him great and make his name a star. 
And Mesmer's land was so indefinite, 
So hard to get a foothold in, that men 
Cried ' ' Witchcraft ! ' ' and to follow him refused. 

IX. 

THE TUTOR EXECUTED. 

Down the long street, astride my proud, black 

horse, 

I rode and ponder'd, scarcely heeding aught : 
''Where shall I seek to find a blameless soul, 
Pure as the radiance of the gleam-wing'd stars, 
Who, to my will, shall be angelic clay 
To mould and fashion as my purpose guides 
A soul clairvoyant, who can lightly soar, 
Swifter than any lofty cloud could do, 



60 VEERA. 

Around the earth, or, at a word, go back 
Into the past's ghost-peopled corridors, 
And bring therefrom the thing that I would 
know ? ' ' 

While thus I mused, lo ! up a garden walk, 
'Twixt house and street, a maiden chased a bird. 
An empty cage stood in the vine-clad porch. 
The bird seem'd like some rare, elusive thought, 
The maiden, Greek Sappho in pursuit of it. 
She shyly glanced my way to see me pass, 
Then quickly turn'd and gayly toward me ran, 
Her large, dark eyes with gladness scintillant. 
She was my friendly, sweet-faced Bedouin. 
Her hand upon my shoulder, up the walk 
We went, my horse beside me ; and her bird, 
Tired of his liberty, soon found his cage. 

I sat with Veera by her cottage door 
And heard ill news. Here she abode in peace ; 
But through the city she had sought me long. 
What time my traitorous two brothers read 
The paper I had written, their wrath burn'd 



VEERA. 6 1 

Against my tutor, whom they deem'd the spy. 
He, being found asleep by the King's bed, 
And the King lifeless, to the tutor's door 
They brought the charge of murder. Through 

the streets 

They sent the criers to proclaim the deed. 
Then, clamorous for his life, the people rose 
And dragg'd him forth and led him to the block 
And slew him. On a spear they set his head 
And placed it high above the Eastern gate. 
The vagrant birds peck'd at the staring eyes 
And wove the hair into their rounded homes ; 
The rain beat on it, and the active wind 
Dash'd it with desert dust. Always the sun 
Made salutation to it, flushing it 
Until it seem'd more ghastly than before. 
And after this mad crime, the older grew 
Jealous of him, the younger, till one morn 
They found the last-born lifeless in the street, 
Stabb'd in the back, the poniard in the wound. 
Misrule got new misrule, and Justice fled, 



62 VEERA. 

Follow'd by blushing Shame with downcast eyes. 
Laws were annull'd that were as bonds to sin, 
And spur was given to uncurb'd desires, 
The headstrong horses of all violence. 

Her story done, the maiden begg'd of me 
To set out for my kingdom, with the dawn. 
"Not yet," said I, "not yet," and then I made 
The passes with my hands and fix'd my will 
To sway her will, till, with a questioning glance, 
She fell into a calm, Mesmeric sleep. 
I saw that I had found the very soul 
My purpose needed, and I bade her wake. 

X. 

THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR. 

I sat and ponder'd in my room that night 
Until the erstwhile silent towers and spires, 
The shadowy sentinels of peaceful sky, 
From near and far announced the midnight hour. 
With waving hands I roused magnetic force . 
And set my will that Veera should approach 



VEERA. 63 

Should leave her house and enter at my door ; 
But none must even see her on the way. 
I set my will and, when the will believes, 
It is an act of faith, and I had faith. 
At last I heard her footfall on the stairs 
The patter of her feet like drops of rain. 
My door was open'd and she silent stood 
Upon the threshold, rosy as new day. 
Her large eyes, wide and staring, took no heed 
Of anything before them. Thus she slept. 
A long white wrapper, made of satin, edged 
With lace and fine embroidery of gold, 
And with two diamonds button'd at the throat, 
Loosely enfolded and reveal'd her form. 
A string of opals hung around her neck, 
A hundred lambent worlds with central fires. 
Her feet were naked and her hair was down. 
I bade her sit beside me, and I laid 
The Bible on her knee and her forefinger 
Upon the verse that names the Tree of Life. 
"Tell me," I said, "where can this tree be 
found?" 



64 VEERA. 

She answer'd me at last, "The way is long 
And I am worn and weary ; mile on mile 
The course of one long river I have track'd. 
The fierce sun burns and dazes and I thirst. 
I can not find the Tree ! My search is done." 
"Look down the past, and see if any knew 
Where grew this Tree, and if it may be found.'' 
Her eyes were closed, and for a while she paused. 
As if her soul were wandering afar. 
At last her lips moved, answering : "One I see, 
Long dead, who bends above a written scroll 
And thereon makes strange characters, which hold 
Some hidden sense pertaining to this Tree. 
In fair Milano, in the library 
Ambrosian, waits this quaint, time-yellow'd 

scroll." 
"Now to thy home go back, sweet spirit,'' I 

said, 

"Thou art as meek and pure as that great man, 
The first who wrote God's words. ' ' At once she 

rose, 



VEERA. 65 

Moved down the flight and out beneath the stars. 
I follow'd closely, musing, all the way, 
Upon sub-consciousness, that deeper self, 
That stream of wisdom flowing, pure and clear, 
Beneath the conscious surface of the soul. 
Great minds have wells in it and draw from them, 
To give new art and science to the world. 
And in the soul that walk'd before me now, 
In sleep and innocence, the stream serene, 
So near the surface ran, it bubbled up 
And glorified her speech and countenance. 
I followed her through dim, deserted streets 
And saw her enter at her cottage door ; 
Then hasten'd homeward ; but, as in a dream, 
She seem'd my Quest that enter'd at a Door. 

XI. 

THE PALIMPSEST. 

In Milan, in the Ambrosian library, 
Among Pinellian writings blurr'd with age, 
I sought and found a prophet's palimpsest, 



66 VEERA. 

A scroll that Angelo Maie brought to light 
And on the margin, half way down the scroll, 
Were signs particular, which baffled me. 
In my perplexity, a bookworm named 
The mongrel dialect of which they were. 
I thus translated : Gihon is the Nile. 
A sinless soul may find long life and gold. 

Veera, I thought, is stainless and most pure. 
Her soul's blue sky has not one cloud of sin. 
If her feet seek the soil where Eve first trod, 
I, at no great way off, may follow them. 
Back to Vienna then I straightway sped 
And, finding Veera, made my purpose plain. 
I begg'd of her to join me in my quest. 
She smiled assent : to be near me, she said, 
Had brought her to Vienna ; to be near me 
Detain'd her from her kinsmen. Her heart's book 
She frankly open'd and I read her love. 
So we were wed, and thenceforth our young lives 
Were like those double stars that shine as one. 



VEERA. 67 

XII. 

GIHON. 

Now up the Nile we journey'd far, and reach'd 
The place call'd Gondokoro, where the stream 
Of Bahr-el-Abiad, or White Nile, flows. 
Thence on we pass'd and with the savage folk 
Made friends and rested in their shady huts. 
We met the tribe of dwarfs, and verified 
That doubted chronicler, Herodotus. 

We came upon the sources of the Nile, 
The long-mysterious Nyanzan lakes. 
Men seldom value what they have not sought. 
If to Vienna I had now gone back 
And given my discovery to the world, 
My name, withheld here, had been loved by 

fame. 

Allured by hope, we slowly journey'd on 
And enter'd soon into a fervid land 
Where nothing grew and all was sand and sky. 
Here the cherubic sun, with flaming sword 



68 VEERA. 

Every way turning, threaten'd our advance. 
And pale and worn was Veera. For my sake, 
With generous patience she endured fatigue. 
Our feet were swollen and with the hot sand 

scorch'd. 

Our garments hung in tatters beggars we, 
And in a land where there was none to give. 
At night we slept beside a sluggish stream 
Whose lukewarm moisture scarcely slaked our 

thirst. 
My beard was grown, and thick my hair hung 

down 

Neglected round my shoulders. I was weak 
And thin and feverish, and Veera too, 
I saw, was ill, and languish'd hour by hour. 

XIII. 

GOLD. 

Beside the stream and, hiding in the sand, 
Was an unusual something, which all day 
Replied with yellow luster to the sun. 



VEERA. 69 

I brush'd away the sand and found it gold ! 
A nugget of pure gold that was so large 
I had not strength to stir it in its place. 
I would have given then the lump of gold 
To buy our hunger respite on a crust. 

We came to where four rivers went their ways. 
Which should we follow ? One, I thought, 
Led surely to the long lost Tree of Life. 
A dead bird here, slain by its kind, we found 
And, tearing off its gaudy plumage, ate. 
Upon occasional trees grew bread-fruit, dates, 
And these sustain'd us as we wander'd on. 
For many miles along the banks we walk'd 
By each of these four rivers and came back. 
Then hope's star sank below the horizon's rim 
And clouds of disappointment settled down. 

XIV. 

THE VISION. 

Heartsick and weary, we were laid, by Sleep, 
Beneath a palm, and Veera, in the dawn, 



70 VEERA. 

Woke and me awakening, told her dream : 
"While I have slept three men have talk'd with 

me 
Three plain, good men who said the kindest 

words. 

They said that Eden was a land well known 
Before the Deluge that the Tree of Life 
Prefigured him who rose from Olivet. 
They said that those who were set free of sin 
Would surely find the Garden of the Lord 
And eat the Tree of Life's abundant fruit. 
"Then I beheld," said Veera, "as when you 
Have will'd my soul away to other scenes, 
A forest wild and dense and, Eastward there, 
A garden fill'd with many trees I knew 
And, in the midst, a Tree most bountiful, 
Which I knew not, but it surpass'd them all. 
Above the Tree, upon a cloud, there stood 
One Godlike, radiant, a Man Divine, 
Who said, 'Believe in me, The Tree of Life 

am I !' 



VEERA. 71 

Then pointing downward to the unknown Tree, 
' Believe in me/ he said, ' and to this Tree - 
Go forward ; but thou shalt not tat of it!' ' 

Obedient to the vision, Veera cried, 
" I do believe ! " And I abased my soul 
Tearing my mad ambition from my heart. 
Then in his name, who is The One Foretold, 
I pray'd and laid on him my load of sin 
And took upon myself his easy yoke. 

XV. 

THE GARDEN. 

With happy hearts we went upon our way 
And found the forest seen in Veera's dream. 
Its wild luxuriance made our progress slow. 
At mid-day here the sun could scarcely pierce. 
So thick the foliage was, he only let 
Into the gloom thin pencils of ru's rays. 
The animals seem'd tame ; they harm'd us not, 
And many insects humm'd but never stung. 
Of berries and of fruits there were enough, 



72 VEERA. 

On every side, to satisfy our needs, 

And plants medicinal to soothe and heal. 

We drank of limpid brooks that cross'd our path. 

We made our way like children, laugh'd and sang 

And felt sweet youth and vigor stir our blood. 

At last we came out in an open place 
Where, in the midst, a tree remarkable 
Snow'd its incessant blossoms to the ground 
The Tree that Veera in her dream had seen. 
This, and the other trees, were housed with nests, 
And every one was like a city of song 
Where only joyful, kindly minstrels dwelt, 
And never work was done except for love. 
The sparkling stream, that through the Garden 

flow'd, 

Fondled by mint and cresses all the way, 
Was fed by many rills of spring water 
Almost as volubJe as were the birds. 
The grass that hid the soil and climb'd the rocks, 
Was softer, thicker than a Persian rug, 
And most exquisitely inwrought with flowers. 



VEERA. 73 

Nature, inviting sleep, spread couches 'round 

In green-roof d, lulling dells of perfect peace. 

A sense of rest and joy was in the air. 

The sky was always blue ; for, set with stars, 

The blue was only of a deeper shade. 

The roses were abundant in all kinds 

And, like an army, stood with nodding plumes. 

The lilies too, were like an army there, 

And every night they struck their snowy tents 

To please their great commander, the white moon, 

Night's lily in the garden of the sky. 

XVI. 

CAST OUT. 

Too often to my mind came searching thoughts 
Relating to existence or surcease 
To the forbidden tree whose fruit gave death, 
And to that other Tree, which I had sought. 
At times I question'd mine auspicious star 
Whether the place, indeed, wherein we were, 
Was the true Garden planted by the Lord ? 



74 VEERA. 

Or if the Garden lay, as some believe, 
In northern Asia, from the Equator far ? 
Of if that other theory were true, 
That, at the Deluge, this huge ball of earth, 
Changing its axis, buried Eden deep 
Beneath relentless, Arctic ice and snow? 

We kept no record of the flight of time. 
As to the rose, or heliotrope, floats down 
Some golden butterfly that 'lights and flies, 
Leaving no vestige of its poised sojourn, 
So each glad, gold-wing'd day came softly down 
And rested for a while, then flew away. 

Now in an evil hour I lusted for some food 
Other than that which I was wont to use ; 
For servant trees extended food to us 
With their long arms, and ever waiting stood. 
I, seeing the Tree that we had left untouch'd, 
And the rich fruit that nestled 'mid its bloom, 
Deem'd it unwise never to know its taste. 
"A dream is but a dream," I said in thought. 
"To Adam this Tree was not at first denied, 



VEERA. 75 

And it was but forbidden us in dream. 
There is no surety that this is the Tree, 
And, if it be, what harm is it to live ? ' ' 
Then I reach'd up, and took the fruit, and ate, 
And all the sky grew dark, and from the place 
Malignant terrors drove me shrieking forth. 
And as I fled, sight dimm'd, my hair turn'd 

gray; 

My youthful body aged at every step. 
A sad, old man, I wander'd in the wastes. 

Once, looking back to where the Garden lay, 
I saw, or thought I saw, and knew it so, 
The sky above the Garden, blue and clear, 
And, in the air, an angel mounting up 
With shining presence and vast sweep of wing, 
Who in his arms bore Veera, now a gift, 
An alabaster urn of precious nard, 
That he was taking joyfully to God. 



76 VEERA. 

XVII. 

LONG LIVE THE KING ! 

I came to my own city. It was night. 
The moon, forih-gazing from a silver'd cloud, 
Trail'd its white robe, thin and impalpable, 
Over the tower above the Eastern gate, 
And there reveal'd the outlines of a skull 
Set on a spear. The portal was unbarr'd. 
Keeping in shadow, I pass'd through the arch 
And spoke the sentinel, who gave me food. 
It chanced that there remain'd to me one coin, 
A piece of gold, and this I paid him with 
And made a friend. He said the late King died, 
The moon before, and left two eldest born, 
Twin brothers, both desirous of the crown. 
Neither would yield his claim, nor would consent 
To govern with the other, both in power. 
The city was dividing, and even now 
There rose low mutterings of violence. 
On the next day, I to the palace went 



VEERA. 77 

And ask'd for audience with the old vizier/ 
I told him all my story, kept naught back, 
And bared my arm and show'd an old-time scar, 
And bared my breast and show'd the birth-mark 

there. 

Embracing me with joy, he kiss'd the mark 
And knelt and did me homage, hail'd me King ! 
That day they crown'd me with rich pomp and 

show, 

And all the city with delight was fill'd. 
Even my nephews oflfer'd me their swords 
In token of obedience and trust. 

XVIII. 

THE PROPHECY. 

Now, for ten years, have I borne mildest sway, 
And hear and see that I am not misliked. 
They know not I am Christian to the core, 
Nor that my mildness is reflected light. 
Some day, ere long, I shall give up the crown 
And let the one twin brother, who survived 



78 VEERA. 

The plague, which, sometime since, swept through 

the land, 

Assume the robes and burdens of the State. 
I tire of power and fain would put it by ; 
For all my life and even abiding hope 
Seem dust and ashes, knowing that I dared 
To thrust aside the mandate of the dream, 
And eat the mystical, life-giving fruit. 
The pendulum of emigration now 
Swings westward to the New World over sea. 
It yet will reach the limit of its arc 
And, oscillating to'ard its eastern bourn, 
Populate Africa from coast to coast. 
There, nations greater than perhaps we know, 
Enlighten'd and progressive, will enlarge 
To wider bounds the arts and sciences, 
And lead the world to heights scarce dream'd of 

now. 

With such a people I should like to dwell 
And learn their manners, customs, modes of 

thought, 



VEERA. 79 

Inventions, aspirations and desires. 

Then, on all knowledge having feasted much, 

I would arise at last and seek again 

That Garden, equatorial, wonderful, 

Where I with Veera dwelt in happy years. 

And, if I might, I should abide therein, 

With meditation on eternal things, 

Till Heaven repented doom on my misdeed 

And granted me the kindly gift of death. 



THE TRAITOR. 
I. 

THE ANCIENT CINTRAN CITY. 

HIGH upon the rocky summit of a cliff in red 

Algiers, 
Raised against the sky of sunset, like a beaker 

fill'd with wine, 
While each dome is like a bubble that above the 

brim appears, 

Stands the city I was born in, my loved mother, 
Constantine. 

Rank on rank, the brick-roof d houses, with their 

heavy, gray stone walls, 
And among them, far above them, rises mosque 

and minaret; 
Like the voice of an enchanter, sounds the loud 

muezzin's calls, 

And the rustle of the cypress has a murmur of 
regret. 



82 THE TRAITOR. 

Round the ancient, Cintran city runs a sturdy 

wall and strong, 
Like the girdle of a soldier, and a gate the 

buckle seems ; 
While a tower on the rampart is a dagger hilted 

long, 

Whose blade is sheath'd in foldings of a circling 
sash of streams. 

Far away the Atlas mountains lift primeval heads 

of snow, 
And appear like old men seated in some quiet 

sylvan place, 
Where they bathe their feet like children in the 

brooks that run below, 

Or smoke their pipes of comfort till the clouds 
obscure each face. 

I was poor ; a beggar found me lying naked in 

the street, 

And he selfishly befriended me and took me 
to his door, 



THE TRAITOR. 83 

Where he cared for me and tended me, until my 

growing feet 

Could patter along the thoroughfares and yield 
him alms the more. 

A stranger to the tenderness of father or of 

mother, 
My tatters scarcely cover'd me and privation 

made me thin. 
I had grown cold to sympathy, or kindness, from 

another. 

I drank the cups of bitterness that are known 
as want and sin. 

II. 

IN THE BLUE KIOSK AND GOLDEN. 

In the days when I, a beggar, idly roam'd from 

street to street, 
By the palace, in the garden where the scented 

fountains play, 
Near the blue kiosk and golden, it was given me 

to meet 



84 THE TRAITOR. 

One to whom my wild heart bounded, and I 
could not turn away. 

For my eyes fed on the banquet of her beauty 

and her grace. 
How could I choose but love her whom the 

angels might adore ? 
Soon she wearied of my staring and averted her 

dear face ; 

But I saw the opals tremble, which about her 
neck she wore. 

Either cheek was sea-shell tinted and, upon her 

crimson lips, 
Danced a smile that linger'd fondly, as the 

starlight on the sea. 
Growing bolder, on my knees I fell and kiss'd 

her finger-tips, 

And begg'd of her, and pray'd to her, that her 
slave I now might be. 



THE TRAITOR. 85 

I was swarthy, handsome featured, comely, both 

in form and face, 
And my sable hair flow'd glossily about my 

neck and head. 
My large, dark eyes were luminous, and I had 

an inborn grace 

That almost changed to royal robes my ill- 
fashion'd, faded red. 

With my arm I bound the maiden and I would 

not let her go, 
Tho' she said she was Eudocia and that Yorghi 

was her sire. 

I said I was Demetrius and, if but a beggar low, 
By my love I was ennobled as with purifying 
fire. 

Heavily her long, jet lashes hung above her 

dreamy eyes, 

Like twin clouds of stormy portent drooping 
near two crystal lakes ; 



86 THE TRAITOR. 

Or they were as wings of ravens seen against the 

twilight skies, 

Or as fern-sprays hanging over glossy water in 
the brakes. 

Her rich vesture was embroider'd with the lace 

of finest gold, 
And a diamond in her fillet with a star-like 

twinkle shone. 
Her clinging silk, in outline, of the form within 

it, told, 

And her slender waist was circled by a jewel- 
fasten'd zone. 

To my eyes she gave her dear eyes, down to gaze 

into and dream, 
And I was as one who, musing, leans upon a 

bridge's rail, 
And, of all else heedless, gazes into the pellucid 

stream, 

While the twilight comes and passes and the 
starry hosts prevail. 



THE TRAITOR. 87 

After this, I met her daily in the palace-garden's 

ways, 
And she gladly came to meet me, often at the 

very gate, 
Sometimes chiding, sometimes smiling at my 

minute-long delays ; 

And she brought me dainty viands on a bur- 
nish'd silver plate. 

I, her lover, was a beggar ; but she also, felt the 

flame. 
Had I been Harun-al-Rashid, she could not 

have loved me more. 
This she fondly whisper'd, kissing on my lips and 

eyes my name, 

And vined her arms about my neck. Could I 
other than adore ? 

Yet all pleasure cloys or ends soon ; if the cup 

is stricken down, 

Then the content is like acid, leaving scars 
of deep regret ; 



00 THE TRAITOR. 

If it cloys, we calmly quit it, with perhaps a 

careless frown. 

As with pain, it is with pleasure, both are easy 
to forget. 

In the blue kiosk and golden, with the maiden's 

hand in mine, 
Sat I when appear'd proud Yorghi with a storm 

upon his face. 
Dared Eudocia so disgrace him ? Would she 

soil his noble line? 

He stamp'd his fierce invective and he drove 
me from the place. 

Ere I went, I turn'd upon him, and I boldly 

claim'd her hand, 
And vow'd that I would have her, tho' the city 

barr'd my way ; 
But he scoffd at me, a beggar, and repeated his 

command, 

Never more to meet his daughter, for my life's 
sake, from that day. 



THE TRAITOR. 89 

III. 
GOOD FORTUNE. 

Thus two rivers, nigh united, were abruptly turn'd 

apart ; 
One to glide through palace gardens, sweet 

and clear, but never free ; 
One to move by towns and bridges, bearing 

cargoes to the mart, 

But assured it was our kismet that a confluence 
should be. 

I would cease to beg, and straightway ; for there 

came across my thought 
A passionate intolerance of the course my life 

had run ; 
And I went out to the venders, where some petty 

wares I bought ; 

But in selling and in buying, my vocation was 
begun. 



90 THE TRAITOR. 

Soon I found myself the owner of warehouses, 

camels, sails 
A commended prince of traffic, with my slaves 

beyond the line, 
Where they sold my costly merchandise of cloth 

and woolen bales, 

Color'd leathers, ostrich feathers, figs and olives, 
dates and wine. 

Hard I labor 'd and my gains accrued and doubled 

in my hands ; 
For Dame Fortune, having given once, will 

often give us more. 

Mine the golden touch of Midas, mine the fore 
sight that commands 

And receives a lavish tribute from the desert 
and the shore. 

And I studied, learn'd the meanings that the 

wisest books can teach 
Gain'd the Greek verb-roots irregular, by prying 

long and hard 



THE TRAITOR. 9! 

Woke a mystical foreknowledge of some rules 

that govern speech, 

And drank deeply at the fountain of the verse 
of Scio's bard. 

All my ships had winds of favor ; not one sank 

or went ashore. 
They were laden low each voyage and had 

faithful planks and seams. 
Sometimes blocks of massive buildings would 

not hold my ample store, 

And my thrifty, daring bargains dimm'd all 
other merchants' dreams. 

I yet wore my beggar garments, liking things that 

mark'd luck's birth. 
And I donn'd my old-time turban with its folds 

of faded red. 
I had worn no better garb then, had I own'd the 

peopled earth. 

Better, rich, to wear clean rags, than, being 
poor, wear silk, I said. 



92 THE TRAITOR. 

Daily, from my cottage window, flew a pigeon 

high in air, 
And beneath its wing lay folded, words for her 

whom I loved best. 
Daily, from her palace lattice, one came back 

with greetings fair, 

Set in idyls full of heart-speech, faithful ardors 
of her breast. 

Dearest love ! she waited patiently, with longing, 

mournful eyes. 
Like the moon, she waited nightly for the 

clouds to leave her brow. 
Like a bird, she waited daily for the coming in 

the skies 

Of another bringing gladness and a mating on 
the bough. 

Naught of wealth won recognition ; for she had, 

to look upon, 

Art's own pictures, color-raptures of the Spring's 
or Autumn's land. 



THE TRAITOR. 93 

And she dined on sweets and spices, coffee, bread 

and cinnamon, 

While they shook light perfumes over and the 
air about her fann'd. 

Down her back, her hair, escaping from its pearl - 

set comb of gold, 
Utter'd fragrance, seem'd a cascade plunging 

into a ravine 
Seem'd the plumage of a raven that adventured, 

proudly bold, 

And, upon her forehead perching, was a dark 
ness and a sheen. 

Every day in milk they bathed her, till she grew 

to be as white 
Dyed her nails with crimson henna round 

her eyes touch'd almond kohl 
Fed her cakes of cream and honey ; but she 

tasted no delight, 

And her bed of golden curtains gave no quiet 
to her soul. 



94 THE TRAITOR. 

IV. 

DEMETRIUS AND HIS TEN FRIENDS 
CALL ON YORGHI. 

But at length the proper day came that my hopes 

had long'd to greet, 
When I cast aside the tatters I had worn for 

many years, 
And array'd my comely person faultlessly from 

head to feet, 

In apparel that was seemly, in the velvet of 
my peers. 

I had bought me restless horses, Arab steeds, five 

white, six black. 
The eleventh was the noblest and the gentlest 

of them all. 
And a friend I had who loved me, to bestride each 

horse's back 

Ten good friends of smooth demeanor, hand 
some features, strong and tall. 



THE TRAITOR. 95 

Every friend I gave a cloak to, purple velvet 

ermine-bound. 
All the horses were caparison'd, their bridles 

jingling gold. 

At high noon we started gayly and the palace- 
entrance found, 

Where, dismounting, we sought Yorghi, and 
to him my purpose told : 

I had come to wed his daughter, for her heart 

had long been mine. 
I had won her when a beggar ; but I loved her 

yet the more, 
Now that my wealth was famous and ennobled 

my design. 

For Eudocia I would give him half my for 
tune, store on store. 

In my face he laugh'd, me scorning, and despised 
me and my part 

'3 



96 THE TRAITOR. 

Call'd me but a beggar wealthy, as he waived 

me thence away ; 

For to him belong'd his daughter ; he knew noth 
ing of her heart ; 

He had pledged her hand in marriage to my 
ruler, Ahmed Bey. 

There are times when our resentment centers 

solely in a glance, 

When our feelings burn too fiercely for effec 
tiveness in speech ; 
Such a look I gave to Yorghi, as I led out in 

advance 

Of my ten good friends, who follow'd with 
brave consolation each. 

V. 

THE CITY BELEAGUERED. 

War, like distant thunder, mutter'd in the terror- 

darken'd air. 

In the sky were signs and omens giving presage 
of new graves. 



THE TRAITOR. 97 

Huddled families of shepherds hurried town ward 

in despair ; 

They had heard the tramp of armies like the 
beat of ocean waves. 

War a pestilent disease is, on the body of the 

world, 
A disease that sometimes purges, tho' it leaves 

the patient sore, 
And there is no drug will cure it until Freedom 

shall have hurl'd 

From its pedestals Oppression, and abides on 
every shore. 

What avail'd my rows of buildings and my bar 
tering for gold ? 
All my gains seem'd vainly gotten, for Eudocia 

was not mine. 
With my goods turn'd into money, I my lands 

and houses sold, 

And sent out the thankless product from the 
risks of Constantine. 



9 THE TRAITOR. 

Like a war-hawk swooping on us, came Damre'- 

mont with his men. 
We had seen his wing-like colors, and had 

closed and barr'd the gates. 
All the women urged to battle; every man a 

soldier then, 

And the fierce Kabyles were certain of the 
friendship of the Fates. 

I had held that love of country was a higher love 

of self; 
For the pride in it is selfish, whatsoever may 

be proved. 
Wearing lightly my allegiance, save for love's 

sake and for pelf, 

I had now no other country than to wed with 
her I loved. 

Thus it is with men of one aim, in their swerve- 
less, headstrong race ; 

They will neither heed entreaty, nor the warn 
ings of the soul. 



THE TRAITOR. 99 

For nothing will they turn aside, or scarcely 

slacken pace, 

And they often miss some blessing that is 
greater than their goal. 

All was plain ; if I should falter, then to me my 

pearl were lost ; 
But, if steadfast in my purpose, I could claim 

her as my right. 
Baffled love is half resentment that will seldom 

count the cost, 

And I stole out from the city to the alien camp 
that night. 

There was yet a higher motive that had urged me 

to the deed : 
If the French should be the victors, they would 

give to Constantine 
Their far better civilization, and sow every where 

the seed 

Of the Masterful religion that should make 
the world divine. 



ICO THE TRAITOR. 

Honor? Honor? What is honor, if it be not to 

uphold 
That which heart and soul espouses and seems 

ever for the best? 
Shall a man defend his rulers with his life and 

with his gold, 

When he knows that, in their downfall, all the 
people would be bless'd ? 

From the cliff I slipp'd in silence, and I reach'd 

the foreign camp 
Where, to see its brave commander, I was 

taken, it befell. 
Like sheaves were stack'd the muskets, and he 

sat behind a lamp, 

Where he planned a crimson harvest for the 
French and Azrael. 

"I have come to sell assistance, if you take my 

terms," I said ; 

"For I know the weakest portion of the city's 
scowling wall. 



THE TRAITOR. IOI 

With Eudocia, Yorghi's daughter, I have wish'd 

for years to wed. 

Promise her to me in marriage, and I frankly 
tell you all." 

Then across his table smiling, me he granted my 

desire. 
Perhaps the smile was memory's, bringing back 

some crown'd delight. 
But he listen'd to my story and, he said, he would 

require 

That I go into the city as a spy the coming 
night. 

VI. 

THE MASKED SPY IN THE PALACE. 

Years before, a secret entrance underneath the 

wall was made ; 
But the three were dead who built it, and none 

knew the place but me. 
When the next night came, I reach'd it and, 

soon after, in the shade, 



IO2 THE TRAITOR. 

Pass'd through lonely urban precincts where the 
battle was to be. 

Soon a purse, with gold well freighted, bought 

the whisper'd countersign, 
And as round I went, I noted place and num 
ber of the troops. 
I chalk'd boldly on a building: Lot the doom 

of Cons /an fine ! 

Death and Folly urge resistance, and the 
people are their dupes ! 

In the street I met a masker hasting onward 

through the night. 
There was something in his bearing that be- 

token'd him a friend. 
"Sir," I said, when by his shoulders I had turn'd 

him to the light, 

"Tell me why you hide your visage and what 
conquest you intend ? ' ' 



THE TRAITOR. 1 03 

By my voice he straightway knew me, and took 

off the mask to say : 
"I am going to the palace. Have you heard 

not of the fete ? 
In three days great Yorghi's daughter is to wed 

with Ahmed Bey, 

And to-night the plighting party. Do not 
keep me ; it is late." 

"Hold !" I cried, "you care but little for the 

pleasure that you seek. 
Lend to me your mask and raiment ; let me 

take to-night your place. 
I shall prize the favor highly, and will pay you 

in a week 

With a gem for every minute, and they shall 
not see my face. ' ' 

Entering his cool apartments, he took off the 
garb he wore, 



IO4 THE TRAITOR. 

And I donn'd the half fantastic silken garments 

and the mask ; 
Then I hasten'd down the stairway and was in 

the street once more, 
Thinking only of Eudocia, in whose presence 

I should bask. 

From foundation to entablature, the palace 

beam'd with light, 
And I fancied it a genie / every window was 

an eye ; 
His mouth the yawning doorway, and a cloud, 

across the night, 

Scem'd like hair about his forehead, toss'd and 
streaming in the sky. 

Then he gorged me ; for I enter'd and I heard 

th' entrancing moan 
Of the music heard the dancing girls with 

bells upon their feet. 
There ten thousand flowers most fragrantly their 

presences made known, 



THE TRAITOR. 105 

And the least, in its apparel, was a miracle 
complete. 

To a splendid hall, an eunuch led me down a 

damask floor, 
And the guests were there assembled in their 

beauty and their pride. 
Rare the gonfalons and pictures ; but all eyes 

could only pore 

On the Bey and on the lily he was leading by 
his side. 

Round a fountain, in the center of the golden 

burnish 'd room, 
Danced the dancers, play'd the players, to the 

cadence of its fall ; 
While without, upon the balcony, amid the sylvan 

gloom, 

One lone nightingale was singing, and with 
sadness mock'd us all. 



IO6 THE TRAITOR. 

VII. 

THE MEETING IN THE GARDEN AND FLIGHT 
OF THE SPY. 

When the Bey pass'd by me graciously, I whis- 

per'd in the ear 
Of the maiden he was leading, (Should I fail to 

win her yet !) 
" Lo ! our day is at its dawning ; I, Demetrius, 

am here ! 

Meet me, dearest, in the garden where we have 
so often met." 

Thither me she follow'd quickly, and I clasp'd 

her to my heart, 
And bestow'd perfervid kisses on her lips and 

cheeks and chin. 
Here she long'd to dwell forever, so that we 

might never part, 

And be fed with many kisses, mine enfolding 
arms within. 



THE TRAITOR. IO7 

There the rhythmic stars out-twinkled and a sordid 

little lake, 

Like a miser, hugg'd the coinage of their glim 
mer to its breast, 
Nor would venture from the closet of the trees 

and tangled brake, 

Lest some fortunate bold robber should it of 
its hoard divest. 

Now the years had changed Eudocia from the 

rosebud to the rose, 
Had perfected every feature, added gentle grace 

to grace, 
And she made my heart her garden, where to 

dwell and find repose. 

Neither time, nor change, nor absence, could 
her love for me efface. 

She was fain to be a lakelet in the starlight of 

mine eyes, 

And as my lips gave kisses, she would catch 
their spicy dew. 



IO8 THE TRAITOR. 

When my face was bending over, it was like 

affection's skies, 

And mine arms were as the verdure that around 
the margin grew. 

But I dared not risk to tell her of the spy that she 

was near. 
The Bey, I said, would tremble when I came 

to claim her hand ; 
And I told her to despair not, but to wait with 

patient cheer ; 

For my triumph would be bruited in the cor 
ners of the land. 

Suddenly arose commotion in the palace down 

the hill. 
Many lights swung in the distance, like red 

fire-flies in a glen. 

Call by call was heard and answer'd, as of wing 
ing birds and shrill. 

We had seen a hundred torches with the com 
ing forth of men. 



THE TRAITOR. 1 09 

' ' Love, they seek you ! ' ' cried Eudocia, ' ' You 

must go, or else be slain. ' ' 
But sad, oh, sad the sundering of the cherish'd, 

heart from heart ! 

Cloven is the oak's tough fiber by the vivid light 
ning chain ; 

But the lovers cling the closer that they strive 
to rend apart. 

On a seat I laid her swooning, then sped lightly 

through the gloom, 
Tho' a torchman so approach'd me that I 

fancied I was seen ; 
But, down-crouching for a moment by a shrub 

of densest bloom, 

I fled onward to my entrance through the streets 
that intervene. 

Overhead a sudden meteor made a pallid day of 

night, 

And, tho' burning with a bluish glow, was 
trail'd with ruby shine. 



110 THE TRAITOR. 

It seem'd like a lifted torch to me, borne swiftly 

in the flight 

Of a spirit that, with warning, brought defeat 
to Constantine. 

VIII. 

THE BATTLE. 

To the town outspoke the cannons, as the dawn 

charged on the night, 
And they told of wounds for mercy and of 

death to old despair ; 
But the sullen town was ready to defend itself 

with might, 

And replied with scornful missiles that came 
hissing down the air. 

When the sun rose hot and bloody, all the fight 

had well begun. 
The artillery was pounding at the weak place 

in the wall. 
Soon the smoke from vale and city hung between 

us and the sun, 



THE TRAITOR. I I I 

And, for many, was the only sign or semblance 
of a pall. 

Like a strong, Numidian lion, on her rock the 

city lay, 
Nothing daunted, tho' surrounded, and with 

scanty store of bread. 
O'er two gates, in calm defiance, stared through 

battle, day by day, 

Her proud eyes, two flaming standards, both 
of bright, unvaried red. 

At these gates they set their swordsmen, thinking 

thence to drive us back, 
If their sallies should deceive us and we to the 

gates should come ; 
But in vain, we would not follow, tho' we long'd 

for the attack, 

And, to make it, chafed and listen'd for the 
signal guns and drum. 



112 THE TRAITOR. 

Stone by stone, a breach was open'd at the weak 

place in the wall. 
Then we sent a truce-flag bearer and he to the 

city said : 
" Fight no more ; at once surrender! Constan- 

tine shall surely fall. 

If you wait, no man remaining shall you have 
to count your dead." 

Like a sword-thrust came the answer : "There is 

plenty in the place 
Of both food and ammunition. Is it these the 

French desire ? 
We can give, and with abundance ; but surrender 

means disgrace, 

And our homes shall be defended while a shot 
is left to fire ! " 

If this town should not be taken, every man must 

share the fault, 

And many there bethought them of their own 
in sunny France. 



THE TRAITOR. 113 

Down our line there ran the whisper, "Now, to 

take it by assault ! ' ' 

And, at last, we heard the cannons for the 
stormers to advance. 

Like great billows, never breaking, were the rocks 

of Constantine, 
And a cargo'd ship the city, with her keel in 

every one. 
She was sailing for the future, with the barter of 

the line, 

And her mast-like towers were gaudy with the 
pennons of the sun. 

But a roaring storm had struck her and a hole 

was in her side, 

Where the waters rush'd in wildly, overwhelm 
ing all before ; 
For in vain each brave endeavor, tho' all on 

board her tried 

To reduce the leak and stanch it with their fury 
and their gore. 



114 THE TRAITOR. 

The Frenchmen were the waters that could not 

be stay'd nor check'd ; 
But the ship was little damaged by the storm 

it had endured ; 
And, re-officer'd and garnish'd, was so far from 

being wreck'd, 

That it seem'd to sail more proudly for the 
change we had secured. 

IX. 

THE WEDDING AND THE FALSE FRIEND. 

It was night. The conquer'd palace bloom'd 

with many lights again. 
In a hall of mingled standards and of heavy 

rugs and mats, 
There were women fair as houris, there were brave 

and handsome men, 

And the fish leap'd up to see them from the 
fountains' marble vats. 

Never quite so fair Eudocia, and she won exalted 
praise 



THE TRAITOR. 115 

From the aliens there assembled to observe our 

marriage rite. 
Not alone her magic beauty, but the grace of all 

her ways 

Drew all eyes and thoughts upon her, fill'd 
with undisguised delight. 

While the service yet was saying and, before I 

placed the ring 
On her tapering heart-finger, some one push'd 

the guests aside, 
And I saw my friend, the masker, his resentful 

presence bring 

To the center of the wedding wild of gesture, 
angry eyed. 

"Thus should die the thankless traitor, whether 

lord or beggar he ! " 
And a dagger rose above us with a glitter in 

the light, 
Then was struck upon my bosom, with a fierce 

fanatic glee, 



I I 6 THE TRAITOR. 

And my false friend, from the service, hasten'd 
wildly in his flight. 

But the mad bee had not stung me in his hurry 

to depart, 
And even in deeds of wickedness, haste is 

harbinger of loss ; 
For I wore a faithful secret close upon my waken'd 

heart, 

The symbol irresistible, an expressive silver 
Cross. 

This had turn'd aside the weapon, and had spared 

me many a year 
For one whose heart has been to me a more 

than Meccan shrine 
For one for whom I paid a town, and believed 

the price not dear, 

The citadel of Jugurtha and once Christian 
Constantine. 



THE TRAITOR. 117 

We are living in a palace near a sparkling, azure 

bay; 

But, at times, alone on horseback, in the twi 
light, dim and late, 
I find me near my city, and the muezzin, in the 

gray, 

Shouts. "To prayer! To prayer, ye people! 
Only God is good and great ! ' ' 



MORO. 

Now, through the crowded amphitheater, 
Sounded a herald flourish loud and clear. 

A breeze of expectation seem'd to stir. 
The unkempt sunnyside sent up a cheer. 

With wicked-looking horns and sullen mien, 

The black bull, Moro, enter'd on the scene. 

This was the bull of which the placards said, k 
A maiden would subdue his utmost rage, 

Unless, in th' attempt, her blood should be shed. 
Did not all Cadiz know the formal page? 

And Moro greeted, with a thundrous roar, 

The ruthless, living hill he lower'd before. 

At once by his tormentors he was met : 

Capas before him shook their teasing cloth ; 

Banderilleros in his shoulders set 

Their cruel darts ; and when he rush'd, right 

wroth, 
16 



1 2O MORO. 

Upon a yellow challenge waved with jeers, 
The picadores prick'd him with their spears. 

Against the nearest picador he turn'd 

And lifted horse and rider from the ground. 

Thus three good horses had he gored, and spurn'd 
Infuriate, when quietly around 

Withdrew the fighters, proud of courage shown, 

And left the bull, in his fierce rage, alone. 

Then fell a rill of music, pearl on pearl, 
And straightway into the arena sprang 

A tawny, Andalusian peasant-girl, 

Pretty and breathing charm ; she sweetly sang, 

Advancing to'ard the bull with fearless joy, 

Then, pausing, ceased and cried, " Moro ! 
Ya voy ! ' ' 

Of glad Espara she, and she had fed, 

Petted and cared for Moro happy years. 
But when of late she heard it lightly said 



MORO. 121 

That he must grace th' arena, full of tears 
She sought authority and gain'd the right 
To save his life, if in this wise she might. 

Amidst the wide, hush'd amphitheater, 
At the first piping of the bird-like voice, 

Moro had quell'd his fury, and seeing her, 

The girl, his friend, he seem'd quite to rejoice. 

And when beside him she had come to stand, 

With his mute tongue he lick'd her loving hand. 

Her voice and presence soothing every smart, 
He knelt before her as she stroked his head. 

She, bending over, soon removed each dart, 
With tears of pity ; then, joy-garlanded, 

Her arm around his neck, and all elate, 

She, smiling, led him to'ard the torril's gate. 

FINIS. 



THIRD EDITION, ENLARGED. 
of 



ONE VOLUME, 16 MO, CLOTH ; V AND 289 PAGES. SENT POST 

PAID ON RECEIPT OF PRICE, $1.25. ADDRESS 

STYLES & KIERSTED, OR THE AUTHOR, 

KINGSTON, NEW YORK. 

Extracts from some Press Notices. 

Mr. Abbey seems equally at home in all depart 
ments. The intellectual quality of his verse predomi 
nates everywhere. He constantly sets noble images 
before us, and is to be commended for his healthy 
outlook on life. THE PUBLIC LEDGER, Philadelphia. 

Peculiarly fitted for recital, many of Mr. Abbey's 
poems will be learned by heart and stir the blood and 
quicken the pulses of coming generations. THE OB 
SERVER, New York. 

Mr. Abbey's book is a contribution to the literature 
of our country, and all the more welcome does it come 
to a place of honor, because of its hearty tone of 
American feeling. . . . We recommend to those who 
are making selections to be read by the youth of our 
land that they look into this volume. EVENING 
TRANSCRIPT, Boston. 



1 24 ADVERTISEMENT. 

It does not take long to .discover that one of the 
chief charms of Mr. Abbey's poems is their gentle, 
kindly, homely philosophy. It is of a kind that 
makes a strong appeal to the plain men and women 
of a busy world. THE TIMES, New York. 

A loyal American, Mr. Abbey finds ample oppor 
tunity for metrical narrative in the episodes of his 
country's history. There are few poems in our litera 
ture of the length of " Dandelion and Tiger Lily," so 
notable for melody and subtle perfection of phrase. 
THE CHAUTAUQUAN. 

Mr. Abbey, tho' not so well known as he ought to 
be, is a poet of fine attainments, and excels especially 
in weaving a good story in verse. BUFFALO COM 
MERCIAL. 

The present collection of Mr. Abbey's poems will be 
valued by all who appreciate what is really lofty in 
purpose and expression. THE BULLETIN, Philadel 
phia. 

It does not take a deep search in the contents of Mr. 
Abbey's volume to show that the author is an original 
thinker. . . . The verse is pliant, and the imagery 
bold and undaunted. SUNDAY TIMES, Memphis. 

The swing and music of many of Mr. Abbey's 
poems show an exceptional power of melodious com 
position. THE SPECTATOR, London, Eng. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 125 

The poems are mostly narrative, but Mr. Abbey's 
lips have been touched with the sacred fire. THE 
WEEK, Toronto. 

There is something of the unusual and picturesque 
in the poems of Mr. Abbey. ... A book of this kind 
is an intellectual treat. THE LITERARY WORLD, 
London, Eng. 

Mr. Abbey has always an idea or incident worth 
writing about, and he always has things to say about 
it worth reading and repeating. We have found, 
wherever we opened the book, that our attention was 
arrested by the vividness and clearness of the style. 
THE INTELLIGENCER, New York. 

The admirable manner in which Mr. Abbey pre 
serves the color harmonies of his work finds a fine il 
lustration in " Azoar," which is saturated with heroic 
energy. ..." To Baffle Time," is also evidence of 
the increasing brilliancy of Abbey's work. THE 
DAILY TIMES, Brooklyn. 

These poems are full of the " direct revealings " for 
which the Anglo-Saxon speech has been praised by 
one of the greatest writers. Mr. Abbey is at all times 
intelligible to the average reader, while at the same 
time charming the most fastidious by the noble sim 
plicity of his verse. COLLIER'S WEEKLY, New 
York. 



126 ADVERTISEMENT. 

Thoughtful reflection and moral meaning are prom 
inent in most of Mr. Abbey's verses, but he writes 
many lines which are worth reading for their musical 
effect alone. THE REVIEW OF REVIEWS, New York. 

Mr. Abbey deals with men, with nature, with 
events. Always his style is simple, his motive the 
highest, his work of that kind which benefits while it 
pleases. THE TRIBUNE, Altoona, Penn. 

There was no more than one American writer, be 
fore Bryant, who could have conceived or expressed 
in a dozen pages such thoughts, for instance, as 
Henry Abbey puts into two lines. . . . Nor could the 
combined talent of the whole company of our imagin 
ative writers before Drake (always excepting Freneau) 
have produced a poem so good as the same author's 
" Irak ;" yet Abbey is a comparatively obscure poet. 
-RICHARDSON'S AMERICAN LITERATURE, Put- 
nams, vol. ii, p. 245. 

Mr. Abbey's writings have the quality, not a very 
common one, of bearing repeated readings. ... It is in 
the longer poems that Mr. Abbey's strain becomes 
most musical, and the volume altogether may be ac 
cepted as one more welcome evidence of the good use 
to which our kin beyond the sea can put the English 
language. THE HERALD, Brighton, England. 



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